Believe It
by Rianne
Summary: Grissom, Sara and Nick stranded in the desert...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Characters in story – not mine and quite frankly insulted by the insinuation they are owned by anyone…

**Author Notes:** Okay, I know I shouldn't be starting another work in progress when I haven't finished my other three, but as per usual this short fic has beaten me down, and has become longer than I intended. I first had this idea back in October and haven't been able to re-work it since then. It is nothing like it was when it started, but that I'd imagine is part of the fun!

**Believe It!**

_By Rianne._

_Grissom_

Nick had caught him staring at Sara.

And not just looking.

Hypnotised.

She'd had him captivated.

And the younger man had actually been cheeky enough to give him, his superior, a knowing look and nod before he had scurried away to the Denali parked up in the distance, keys in hand.

That had been hours ago.

Nick had returned, the DB had been processed; they had scoured the surrounding desert for trace, Super Dave and the Cops had headed back to Vegas.

And it was time for them to follow suit.

And those keys…?

Now they were nowhere to be seen.

And that it seemed, after a double shift in the desert sun, was the final straw, his final nerve fraying beyond repair and then before he could consider, or hold the words back, something inside him had snapped and he was yelling, mindlessly spouting some meaningless tirade about there being no room in the already stretched budget to replace expensive car keys lost by careless employees, that sending locksmiths out into the Nevada desert was going to cost the earth and on and on and he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Nick flailed for a moment, deer in the headlights, before something in him visually snapped too, and he retaliated.

It had stunned him for a moment. Nick had never done that before. Had never spoken to him like that.

But the aggression took over, both of them were speaking at once, fighting to be heard over one another, their voices rising until they were yelling and it was completely out of all control.

The tiny remaining rational part of his brain recognised that this outburst was utterly insane. That he sounded like he was loosing his mind. They had only lost the car keys for goodness sake, it wasn't the end of the world, it wasn't even a splash in the ocean but he was just suddenly so angry, and once he had opened that shook up bottle of emotions he just couldn't get them crammed back into the vessel again.

And what made it worse was that he knew full well that the missing keys weren't the root of his anger. In fact he was more annoyed at himself, annoyed that he had let his attentions be caught by something (someone) other than the case. And that equated to only one thing, that he was not providing the very best service for this poor deceased soul found ravaged by animals and the elements.

That to him, was unforgivable.

And if he was more honest than he would like, he was damn annoyed at being caught.

And that all just compounded.

He was ashamed, and feeling sorry for himself, tired and pissed off, and very frustrated.

And Nick was not helping.

He swore that he had handed those keys to Nick when the younger CSI had begged to borrow them so he could have a few minutes rest and a return to the car to pick up a bottle of probably warm water.

In self-protective retaliation, Nick turned around and claimed that Sara had used the keys to return her jacket to the car as the sun had come up, just before they had trudged to check the land surrounding their DB.

But even as he had tried to blame Sara the flaws in his crime timeline were dawning across his face, the sun had risen some eight hours earlier. Sara had borrowed the keys at daybreak, earlier than he had.

And honestly Sara's attitude wasn't helping either as she was instantly defensive, as always, and had flown at Nick, more than emphatically reminding him in a retort so curt and determined that both men present flinched, that she had handed those keys right back to Grissom, and Nick had borrowed them after her, just as Grissom had deduced, and she would just like to know exactly what Nick had done with them and she'd also just like to see him try and blame her.

Her hands were on her hips, her ponytail was bouncing, her ire raging, no one dared mess with a pissed off Sidle, it wasn't worth loosing your appendages.

But neither of them were admitting fault.

All of them growing redder and redder in the face as they battled it out. Lord help him if he and Nick came to actual blows over this as the younger CSI had pounds more muscle than he did, and a good fifteen years on him.

But stubborn and righteous as ever neither was backing down and for some unknown reason he couldn't let it go.

He couldn't get back that calm control he always prided himself on.

It was incredible to actually feel. To act out this violent rage in this chest. Delightfully cathartic.

His issues on restraint had got him into this mess.

And that only made him more ashamed, his feelings for Sara had caused trouble again, this time he had somehow got so distracted that he had lost track of their keys, and more importantly allowed himself to be caught in an act of very un-supervisory indiscretion.

But really he had shot the supervisor role to hell when he finally asked Sara to go out with him, completely trampling all over every official rule.

He shouldn't be angry about that, he should be joyous, he was at long last dating Sara Sidle, he should be on his knees crying it to the heavens, but he wasn't.

And that made him angry too.

He was still worried about what others would think.

And that had him so riled he wanted to scream.

He could see Sara staring at him right now, eyes wild.

Damn, even in a moment of mind-boggling breakdown he couldn't stop looking at her.

He had to stop this. To walk away. To bring his pulse down and think rationally.

God, he had only kissed her once.

Only once, two days ago and that one moment of happiness had sent his whole life into a tailspin.

**_Nick_**

It had to be the heat, spending all day in the heat, that was the only thing he could blame for the complete breakdown that was going on right now.

He had never in his life screamed at his Boss. He'd never screamed like this at anyone, not even his family.

This was madness. All they had done was loose the keys, and Grissom had lost his mind, and so had he.

Why hadn't he walked away from confrontation? He wasn't this easily riled. What was going on with him? What was going on with Grissom?

And for that matter why hadn't Sara stepped in to stop them?

After initially defending, and clearing herself she had fallen quiet. Why was she just staring at both of them in some sort of horrified trance?

She probably thought that they had lost their minds, that was most likely why.

In all honesty he had no idea how the keys had been lost.

All he could say for certain was that it must have been an accident.

But why wasn't he saying that, how come he couldn't get those calm and sane sounding words into this argument?

He could safely vouch that not one of them had intended to strand them all out here in the middle of wherever here was, without going far wrong.

No one in their right mind would wish themselves stranded miles from anywhere, with night approaching and Grissom doing some kind of crazy man rant, whilst Sara was quiet, way too quiet in an oh shit, this was really happening kind of way.

She hadn't even stepped in as the usual voice of reason; she just stood there gawking.

It didn't seem like any of them could be called upon to get them out of this mess.

But what to do, some investigators they all were, they could timeline a crime scene in minute detail, but they couldn't figure out the whereabouts of those keys, or a way to get themselves out of this that didn't require a long walk, or waiting until daylight.

But whatever the excuses, between the three of them they had only thought to bring one set of keys to the company issued Denali.

One set of keys that were not to be found anywhere.

Pockets had been rooted.

Kits had been ransacked.

He had even shaken his jacket so hard bits of lint had formed a dust cloud.

But those damn keys had vanished.

Or more likely been dropped somewhere out there in the thousands of miles of desert that surrounded the three of them.

So in his rational mind there were three options:

One: split up and search for them, which in the setting sun looked the most daunting task imaginable.

Two: ring for help and a locksmith and a ride back to Vegas, which seemed a great option until they realised that his cell had no battery, Grissom's no signal and Sara's was tucked away in her jacket pocket snug and safe inside the damn car.

Or three: sit and wait for someone, anyone to drive down the lonely desert road that snaked past them into infinity, and hadn't seen a car besides theirs in hours.

It wasn't looking good.

And he could feel Grissom's displeasure growing more irritated by the second as he began ranting even louder, orally cataloguing everything that was wrong with this current situation.

Or at least that was what he hoped was causing Grissom to look that way… and that his boss wasn't currently plotting which of the countless ways he could loose a C.S.I out here in the darkness.

**_Sara_**

Her mind never did stop working, and anger and frustration only cranked up the power.

This was ridiculous.

What was happening here?

What had they done with Grissom and Nick and who were these men at one another's throats over a simple set of lost keys?

They were squaring off against one another like cowboys in Monument Valley.

What was going on with these two? Had they lost their minds?

Was it contagious? Grissom had been acting crazy all day; saying odd stuttering things, acting distracted and every single time she had looked in his direction he had been watching her. Yet hidden behind his dark glasses she hadn't been able to read him.

For all she knew he could be looking disgusted at the state of her, all sweaty, sandy and exhausted and wishing that he had asked another woman out, one who didn't have a man's job, and spent time dolling herself up before she came to work.

Was he wishing he hadn't asked her?

Was he wishing he hadn't kissed her?

Her heart wavered over that thought.

But she squashed it down.

Now wasn't the time for a self-conscious pity party, she needed to find a way to calm this down and separate these two.

As she watched the display of male testosterone flare before her still in mild disbelief, she set her mind to work, trying to focus on the most important issues. After all it looked like she was the only one with working brain cells left and it might be up to her to find a way to fix this.

There were levels of importance.

There was the time sensitive evidence that was carefully contained within their forensics kits.

Her gaze tilted skyward to the fact that the sun was very low and in a few minutes the temperature was bound to hit the sand around them and they'd soon be as chilly as Grissom's mood.

They needed to find some way to shelter, but a quick sweep of her surroundings confirmed that the Denali was the largest object for miles.

A chill crept up her spine, sending goose bumps sprawling over her bare arms.

She didn't even have her coat; it was taunting her from the back seat with the sculptured bump of her cell phone in its pocket. They didn't have much water either.

She closed her eyes to shut out the fighting for a moment.

Today was supposed to have been her day off, why had she said yes, when she'd been called up to work today?

Oh yeah, because Grissom had called and she had wanted to spend time with him, even if it was only at work…

She was beginning to wonder if she needed to learn to say NO.

**_Grissom_**

The finger of blame was now pointing either at Nick or himself.

And none of this was helping anything.

They weren't shouting anymore, just bickering like children, whilst night crept in around them.

This was why he'd rather work with bugs than people.

Especially hot, bothered, hungry, tired, people.

If those two hadn't needed to return to the car earlier, and had passed the keys from confused hands to confused hands, they would be in that car right now, most of the way back to Vegas heading for much needed rest.

It wasn't that he begrudged them breaks, and they always worked so relentlessly, in truth it was the other completely unrelated episode earlier that day that had him so riled up.

And riled up in more ways than one!

He was frustrated and very reluctant to accept that he was in the wrong here, they both were.

Why was he still arguing?

The evidence was glaring even to him. His chest still tightened when he thought about it.

He was arguing because he was sulking. He didn't want Nick to know he had been objectifying Sara. He wanted to take his actions back and be more careful and respectful. But he couldn't.

He was embarrassed, and he was, for the first time in a long time, glad of the Vegas heat as it hid the pink tinge that tipped his ears.

It had been almost a day and he was still stinging about being caught out, the only word that could really be used was gawping at Sara.

In the past it would have taken a demolition ball to the building around him, and finding himself under a hill of rubble and a dust cloud, to shatter his concentration when he was in CSI Grissom mode.

But lately…

It was that kiss.

Sweet and gentle at first, a proper goodnight kiss bestowed by a gentleman to the woman of his affection, but this was Sara, boundary pusher extraordinaire.

And one subtle stroke of her sensual tongue against his lower lip had found him surging into full passion.

Standing at attention.

And he hadn't been able to shake her from his thoughts since.

The sultry smile as he had withdrawn, dazed and licking the taste of him from her lips appeared before him every time he closed his eyes.

And she was not helping him out here.

As if she hadn't dented his concentration enough just by being there, it was as if she was oh so innocently conspiring against him.

The case had started with a call to her, on her day off.

Sure he could have called Warrick or Catherine, but that kiss had encouraged him to call Sara.

Sleepy voiced and sounding cosy and lazy, she had agreed to meet him in thirty, and he had counted them down to the second.

She had been playing with her hair as he picked her up outside her place, the chocolate strands still wet from her shower. And as he drove she had dragged an elastic from her jeans pocket and bound it up in a messy and makeshift ponytail, lifting the weight of it off her graceful neck and revealing her ears and a little more of her face than he was used to seeing.

It was nice, and yet it made her look younger. Sinfully younger. She looked again as she had the day they first met.

He had kept looking at her, glancing sideways at her silhouetted against the windowpane and the light beyond.

And when they had arrived at the scene he had still been looking, distracted by the new view of her ears, her throat.

And on top of that she had chosen a red vest top to wear that day, one that showed the freckles sprinkled across her shoulders, and across the intimate dip between her collarbones where the fabric clung to her hot skin. Sure it was a chaste expanse of skin on any other woman, but when it came to Sara, seeing that much skin, especially when it glowed enticingly with the heat of the sun and the strain of walking five miles from the road in daytime desert temperatures… it made his mouth dry.

He had found himself watching her slyly as she had reached the top of an incline keeping pace with him, watched her panting, watched the way it caused her breasts to rise and fall and had been captivated by her pulse beating tightly under the skin of her exposed throat. He had longed to press his open mouth to her, to dart his tongue over the thump, to taste the salt of her skin, and just the contemplation was almost more than his fatigued body could take.

He had been forced to close his eyes and had to take long slow breaths before he could continue after her down the decline.

He had made himself concentrate upon their search, his eyes visually sifting through the sand and weathered debris.

That had been working great for him until she had moved closer to show him something she had found and the scent of her, of her skin warmed sunscreen, had stiffened him so much his nose had practically quivered.

And she had noticed, she had put a hand to his moist forehead, confused and worried by his silence and pale face and that skin-to-skin contact had been almost too much for his yearning heart to withstand.

Her touch had been light and dreamily cool against his frustrated demeanour.

Yeah, that had been a hard one to explain!

He wasn't even sure what excuse eventually came stuttering from his lips, but she had kept glancing sideways at him every few minutes after that, waiting for him to keel over of heat exhaustion, or start jabbering like he saw hallucinations.

He did, he saw a siren processing evidence, sifting through sand dunes like a mermaid undulates through water, faintly blurred by the heat haze and the amber light.

The way she studied a piece of withered and gnarled wood, turning it over in her hands, running her long fingers along its surface and lifting it up to the light to study it further, was like a dance of temptation to him.

Everything sliding lower inside him.

To see her working so diligently at something he too loved, reinforcing their shared interests which seemed to have been thrown to the wayside during their recent arguments, misunderstandings and all the downright emotional entanglings which had befallen and confused him, derailing what had once seemed to be a satisfying friendship with the promise of more.

But things had changed; he had finally stopped stumbling over the wrong words in her presence and had been able to ask the right ones.

Had been able to halt the way that their relationship had been crumbling before his very eyes, and had begun to carefully rebuild 'them'.

Somehow she had found it in herself to forgive him.

Even to forgive the words and actions he couldn't understand himself ever making, nor control when he did.

He had prevented her, had convinced her that he couldn't be with her in anyway beyond the professional.

He had repeatedly forfeited his chances.

Broken her heart over and over again with his indecisiveness and nervousness and fears.

He had given up hope.

He had no chances left.

Berated himself over still entertaining thoughts like that about her when he kept turning her away.

But now he was working towards having permission to be with her, to touch her, to think about her in a more private way, he couldn't decide if he felt guilty or not, was he disrespecting her with his admiration of her beyond her intellect?

She'd be horrified if she could hear his thoughts, or maybe after all this time she might be thrilled to finally hear that he desired her.

Hey, he would remain hopeful.

After all, even through this crazed display of male aggression she was still standing there.

Curious brown eyes big and still not loosing their sparkle despite the troublesome situation they would soon be in and the tension in the air between himself and Nick.

He had been acting like he was crazy all day; it was no wonder she was looking at him so apprehensively.

It usually took a lot more to aggravate the grumpy Grissom beast.

But in meeting her eyes something was happening.

Something clicked.

It was like Sara burst back into life.

She was between them in seconds.

Palm to each puffed up male chest, pushing them apart.

Moving them so that the Denali was trapped in-between them as a barrier to their rage.

And at the exact moment that the sun hit the sand, silence fell.

**to be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** They will gladly be yours if you can rescue them from the desert… although you might want to bring something to keep Grissom and Nick apart on the journey home! ;)

**Author Notes:** I'm doing my best to keep going with this until it's done. I'm beginning to think I have commitment issues (okay… I know I have, who am I kidding!) But it keeps changing as I write it!!

And a shout out to all those who reviewed and suggested breaking the window!! I laughed the most at Wendy's suggestion of shooting the window out!! (scared of you!) But even if they broke in, people, how would they power the car?!! ;)

**Believe It!**

_By Rianne._

_Chapter Two._

**Nick**

Man, for a skinny chick Sara Sidle was strong!

Wiry and, yeah if he was honest, he was a little bit scared of her.

Her long fingers dug into his chest as she pushed him back, her other palm planted just as firmly in the centre of Grissom's chest.

Separating them like kindergarteners.

And yet, even as she let go of Grissom and continued to shove him back, around to the other side of the Denali, he still couldn't stop glaring over the shiny roof at his battle opponent.

Daring him to start this again, spurred for a fight.

He needed to shake this off, but he was not going to be the first one to concede.

Not when Grissom had started it.

Why should he?

Sara's harsh and frustrated sounding demand cut through his thoughts.

"Just cool off!" she insisted giving him a final shove.

She was always choosing sides, and it was always for Grissom.

The only man who consistently didn't deserve this favour from her.

Who treated her badly, so badly, over and over again and yet she never gave up on him.

It made him even angrier; and it frustrated the hell out of him that she probably didn't even realise that she did it.

She should have so much better.

She deserved it.

Sure Grissom meant the world to him, and he'd trusted him with his life, but he didn't trust him with Sara's heart.

For as strong as she pretended to be, when it came right down to it, Sara Sidle was more vulnerable and hopeful and sweet than you could imagine.

And Grissom's unfathomable behaviour had threatened to break her several times.

Just the way he would flirt with her from time to time, like she dangled at the end of his fishing line. A prize that was comfortably just out of reach for him. He could tug just a little and get her attention and then quickly return to the safety of his perch if she happened to tug back.

She always managed to not quite hide the glimmer of hope, before he turned and behaved exactly the same way with Catherine, or the waitress at their local diner, or any other woman present and then she had to pretend she wasn't utterly crushed.

She was like a sister to him, that same protective instinct he felt towards his actual sisters flared in him every time he saw the hurt in her eyes.

It was chauvinistic and very Southern of him, but damn it he was a gentleman and expected that same standard of respect to exist in others. Couldn't Grissom see that his actions hurt her? Why couldn't he get that teasing her was cruel, it wasn't like teasing Catherine, or any of the other women.

Couldn't he see that Sara Sidle was in love with him?

That she wasn't someone there just to boost his aging ego whenever he felt it flagging?

She deserved a man who would treat her right.

Not a man who undressed her with his eyes when she wasn't looking and then when caught, sweaty and clearly horny, would turn her away with a harsh word when she asked concerned after his well being.

Not only had he caught Grissom eyeing her movements earlier, Sara herself had caught him, and yet instead of anger, and justified indignation she had been anxious, tenderly questioning his health.

Couldn't she see that Grissom hadn't really been feeling sick?

Didn't she get that she had just caught him staring lustily at her and that he just didn't have the balls to admit that he found her attractive.

He had clearly been salaciously ogling her and she didn't seem to get it.

Had Grissom's behaviour really smashed her self-worth that hard?

Did she really not know how gorgeous she was?

How unique, and strong, how amazing?

Or maybe the problem really did lie with Grissom.

In his inability to admit that he did mean more with his flirtations, that he did like her, want her, possibly even love her back, but that his fears got in the way?

**Sara**

Silence had fallen, a truce of sorts.

Thank goodness.

She had dealt with Nick first, the easiest to handle.

Palm to each chest she had separated them.

Both feeling very solid beneath her touch, puffed up and growling. Yet touching Grissom's chest and feeling his heart beat against her skin had still sent a tingle up her arm.

She didn't like to admit it, but pressing on Grissom's chest had been very different to Nick's.

But she couldn't be distracted by that. So she had let go of Grissom and continued to move Nick away instead.

If they insisted on behaving like children, then they needed separating, like children.

And that had stopped the angry exchange of words for now. The hostile glares continued but she could live with those, for now, they were silent at least.

They let her mind work, although she had no idea why she felt the need to fix this. This was certainly not her fault. She was always in the middle, her place in life.

Nick had just reacted to being provoked; Grissom was the one to be worried about. A loss of control from Grissom had to mean something important, even if she couldn't figure out what the hell that was.

And they really needed to start thinking about their safety and the best way to shelter.

The sun had only just disappeared beneath the horizon and already she could feel the air beginning to chill.

"The wind is blowing from that way," she heard herself speak, her voice loud after the silence, but the others didn't react in any way, "I think the best place to shelter would be on this side of the car."

Silence again.

Were they questioning her suggestion, thinking up another, pissed off with her as well as each other?

She could feel her own ire rising, and there was no more room, even in this expanse of desert for another bruised and angry ego.

"Nick?" she exasperated.

Nick finally gave and broke the fixed glare, tearing himself away from Grissom's focused gaze, and with a huff of exhailed tension both turned away to scan the desert around them.

"Whatever," was Nick's dismissive final response, his head barely tilting her way.

So she turned to try with Grissom.

He had his back to her, fingers flexing rhythmically at his sides.

She didn't think about it.

She just reached out, his name on her lips, her palm coming to rest lightly on his shoulder.

But before she could speak she was knocked backwards, a dull throb of pain racing up her arm as he whirled on her.

The look of surprise on his face turning to complete horror as she stumbled backwards, slamming against the side of the car.

**Grissom**

He had only realised a second too late.

It hadn't been Nick.

The hand had been too small, too gentle.

But it was too late.

He had thrown off the touch, expecting it to be Nick yanking him around to finally start the physical fight that had been brewing.

Afraid of resorting to violent actions, but ready to defend himself if it came to that.

And instead he had reeled around to see Sara, stumbling backwards, falling hard into the car.

And the look in her eyes.

The hurt and the fear.

She had cowered.

Oh God.

What had he done?

The tension that had brewed in his body, it had given him the power to easily throw off a man the size of Nick, and instead he had used that stored up force against Sara.

She was frozen there, trembling, cradling the arm he had thrown off protectively against her body.

He couldn't break her gaze, couldn't do anything, but stare back, horrified.

And then Nick was at her side, blocking his view of her, looking after her, starting to move her away from him, away from the car.

Nick was speaking, but he couldn't hear him beneath the rage of his heartbeat in his ears.

He yelled something his way, the disbelief clear in his expression, before he returned his attention to Sara.

The younger man's arm wrapped easily around her shoulders, leading her away, walking her decisively in the direction of Vegas.

And for a moment he let them.

All he could see was that look in her eyes.

What had he done?

He had to stop them; he had to take it back, to explain, to apologise.

He started to stumble after them.

"Sara?"

His voice sounded so lost.

She turned back, despite Nick's attempts to pull her away.

Her eyes were glimmering.

She was crying.

She stopped dead in the middle of the road, haloed by the fading orange glow of the dying light.

She was resisting, shrugging out of Nick's embrace.

Squaring her shoulders, tilting her chin defensively, preparing herself.

And in that instant he saw the child she had been.

The little girl caught in the middle of her parents fighting. Hiding from the blows and the insults.

He was disgusting.

He hadn't meant to hurt her, but he had.

He had brought her back to that place. That place of mistrust and fear. All because of his temper.

"Sara… I…"

She was biting her lip, those huge tears still wavering before their fall.

Her gaze flitted away, lashes fluttering as she tried to dislodge the tears before facing him again.

"I'm sorry," the words tumbled out of him in a pained rush.

She took a breath and then turned away, and started walking again. Her uninjured arm still cradling the wounded one to her body.

She was never going to forgive him.

The thought that he had inflicted harm to her turned his stomach, saliva filling his mouth. His vision was fogged with a wave of dizziness. Cold sweat had broken out across his forehead.

He swallowed hard, but couldn't hold it back, and in seconds he was on his hands and knees, emptying his stomach in heavy heaves onto the dry land before him.

The hot liquid burning his already dry throat.

**Sara**

Her mind was in a spin.

He hadn't meant to hurt her.

She knew that.

Even through her stunned surprise.

Even through the dull throb in her arm.

Even through the tears of shock that filled her eyes without her permission.

She knew that.

He had thought that Nick was attacking him. He was protecting himself.

She should have known better, she knew about his hearing, her feet had been too quiet; she should have spoken before she touched him.

She should have…

Her mind was running a million miles an hour.

She couldn't break his gaze, couldn't tear herself away from him.

The fear in his eyes.

The pain.

He had hurt her.

Used physical force against her.

He would never forgive himself. Not after all she had told him about her childhood.

But she couldn't seem to do anything.

She just remained there, stunned, feeling her limbs beginning to shake.

Her knees would not be able to support her much longer.

And then Nick was there before her, blocking her view of Grissom.

Shouting. Speaking. She just couldn't take in anything.

Nick was wrapping an arm around her shoulders, leading her away.

And she had followed in a daze.

Unsure what would happen now.

Unable to take control, to reign in the events in motion.

He would never forgive himself, it kept spinning around her brain.

He wouldn't be able to.

This would ruin everything.

Nick was walking her away, speaking to her, but she hadn't heard a word.

Until her name.

Grissom.

He sounded so lost, so small and frightened.

She had to see him.

Shrugging Nick's touch away she turned.

"Sara… I…"

He looked terrified.

Like she would never forgive him.

She had to straighten her back to continue to stand, her heart was thundering, this wasn't happening. She wanted to curl up into a ball and let the sobs come.

"I'm sorry."

That was it.

It was over. He couldn't do this any more. He couldn't risk it. Not after this.

It was right there in his eyes.

She froze another moment as her heart actually broke.

Then she had to turn away.

Refusing to take shelter in Nick's offered arms. This was his fault.

She didn't want to be near either of them.

If she could get away from herself she would have.

She started walking, with no idea where she was going, anywhere would do as long as it was away.

She could hear Nick on her heels.

Until a heavy thump caused them both to turn back.

He was on the ground.

Grissom was on the ground.

And her broken heart raced into life again.

He needed someone, something was wrong, very wrong with him.

He was sick, was violently emptying his stomach onto the ground before him.

They couldn't leave him, not out here, alone.

And she couldn't stop herself.

She was running.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** They don't even like me really, but I give them more of a life than CBS does…

**Author Notes:** (You should all know that I am such a good 'author' that I spelt it auhtor when I typed it just now…oh dear… back to the coffee!) And remember when I wrote about my commitment issues – blame them for the looooong delay...

This back tracks a little first, and it's now so different to the original idea I had that it might end up being a whole different fic! I keep thinking, oh I should have done this or that, or had this person instead, and writing in all three perspectives with all the 'he', 'him', arghhh! Ah well onwards with chapter three!

(For those interested, Holding Patterns chapter 6 is on the way next, the perspective is a little muddled – I'm working on it!)

**Believe It!**

By Rianne

_Chapter Three_

**Nick**

God, he had to shrug this off.

He could feel the coiled tension in his muscles, and the must fight adrenaline ebbing through his veins.

He had to slow.

To think clearly.

To take measured, deep breaths, the air hissing through clenched teeth. He stared out at the vast expanse of desert, feeling the faint dry wind attempt to blow some of the frustration right out of him.

Letting the quiet rush over him.

He needed a long cold drink so badly he could taste it, a powerful shower and to sleep.

And more importantly he needed space.

It was madness, but even out here in the middle of nowhere, he needed space.

To be away from present company.

To end this day once and for all.

He had the strangest feeling that he was being punished by karma, for some reason.

His heart rate was beginning to return to normal when he heard it.

Heard the roar of air and then the awkward thump.

And he was around the car in seconds.

Grissom was just standing there, slack jawed.

And he followed the trajectory of that vacant expression.

Sara was against the car, the look on her face a million times worse than the hurt look she usually tried to hide.

She wasn't moving. Stunned into silence.

And with a sickening feeling filling his stomach he knew what had just happened.

Grissom had struck her.

And you know what, he didn't care if it was unintentional, accidental, or whatever.

You didn't hit women.

End of.

He was by Sara's side in moments. Reaching out to carefully touch her, wary of her bolting like a startled doe, but needing to protect her, to hide her from his view.

But she wasn't responding, barely blinking, her body starting to shiver.

And he checked her over, all the while feeling the horrified gaze of Grissom burning into his back.

How dare he!

She was cradling her arm, but he was relieved to find her more shocked than physically hurt.

And once sure he whirled on Grissom.

The older CSI was still staring only at Sara, too cowardly to meet his eyes.

And murmuring, he was murmuring under his breath, distracted and stuttering.

And try as he might he could only make out one thing.

"I didn't… I thought…"

He kept muttering it, over and over as if he couldn't hear himself speak.

What was going on with him?

"Grissom?"

He didn't respond.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Making no attempt to hide the disgust and disbelief, the words an unrestrained yell of anger. Trying to get a reaction from the near catatonic man.

Grissom's attention finally shot to him, eyes wide and fearful.

And in that moment he knew what had happened here.

Grissom had thought that Sara was him.

He'd confused Sara's touch, had thought that _he _had been dragging him around to start the fight that had been brewing.

He was afraid of him?

For the record he, Nicholas Stokes, had never in his life attacked an unsuspecting man.

That was the coward's way and he was no coward.

Why would Grissom be afraid of him?

The thought twisted his stomach, it was like falling into a weird dry haze nightmare.

This was rapidly getting out of all control.

Stress, he could only blame the stress and the heat.

They all needed space, that or a focused plan.

But the look in Grissom's eyes stuck with him, burned a guilty hole in his stomach.

The fully-grown, top of his field, PHD holding, self-assured man had gone.

He had looked like a terrified kid, the shy, quiet, smart kid who spent his days hiding on the edges, avoiding attention, only to attract the distain of the bigger, older jock kids, with his intelligence and classroom successes.

He obviously envisaged him to be, or have been a jock like that.

But to still feel that insecurity?

God the man was a mess.

He didn't like the idea of that, it was a flaw of his, this expecting perfection in those he admired and looked up too.

It was hurtful to realise that there were cracks appearing in his vision of his mentor.

This person he had grown to count upon.

So here came the evolution, and it came to all, he would have to take charge now, and so guiding Sara by the arm about her shoulder he started walking.

Moving them away into the encroaching darkness, towards the faint haze of light pollution that indicated Vegas and all its devils in the far-reaching distance.

She stumbled in his arms and he kept her steady, wondering what it was about this night that was rendering his friends strangers to him.

He didn't like Sara like this, he liked her feisty and quick, and although he had to admit he hadn't seen it much recently, he also liked her smiling.

"Sara…?"

The voice cut through the encroaching darkness as if ethereal.

He had never heard Gil Grissom sound so uncertain.

There was something more here, something he was missing, something he felt he might never understand.

Something far beyond the fear of a man accidentally hurting a woman.

And it made his stomach ache at the possibilities; it made things he didn't like to think about occur to him.

It coaxed him to consider the way the woman by his side bristled riled at the very first hint of domestic violence in any case they looked at.

It explained far too much.

God, please don't let that be true.

It drew conclusions he did not want to hear, and instinctively tightened his grip on her.

But she was stopping, turning back to the voice, twisting her way out of the safety of his arms.

And it came to him that if anyone knew her secrets, Grissom would.

Grissom knew her better than any of them.

He watched her standing there, her hair glowing with highlights in the setting sun.

Watched her lithe frame waver, even as she tried to stand tall, her shoulders square, her arms crossed around herself.

A woman of more contradictions than answers.

He knew right then that he couldn't verify his fears either way.

He honestly didn't know enough about the woman he had spent years working with.

And he had to say that he didn't know enough about Grissom either.

There was always so much going on under the surface with the two of them.

And as he watched the two of them hovered there.

A silent conversation happening between them.

He shouldn't be watching this.

These thousands of arguments and heartbreaks and emotions passing silently through the air.

Secrets he would never decode.

His eyes bounced from the pride in Sara's stature, to the pain written more clearly than he had ever seen on Grissom's face.

And in that moment they weren't just his friends, they weren't Dr. Grissom and CSI. Sidle.

They were two people, so lost and misunderstood, even to one another.

Trying frantically to express the way that they felt.

The whole desert wasn't big enough to withstand the tension so keen it hurt his chest.

He had to look away, staring at the dust on his boots,

They hovered that way for the longest time, a private and desperate exchange.

Only shattered by Grissom's aching, "I'm sorry…"

And then the motion was back, Sara was striding away, shaking off the arms offered her, like she didn't want to be touched, the tears in her eyes barely restrained.

Her long legs cutting a fast stride across the fields of sand.

He had to break into a half run to keep up with her, his boots stirring up dust clouds with every heavy footfall.

Leaving Grissom behind, standing a few hundred yards away from the car.

Sara was the one he needed to chase right now.

Grissom could get his act together and follow them, or sit out all night sulking and baby-sit their useless car.

It was such a shame that technology had advanced so much that you couldn't just wiggle the lock with a wire coat hanger and bam you were in.

But the thump of something heavily impacting the ground emptied thoughts of technological advances from his head, and the stomach twisting sound of retching made both he and Sara whirl back towards Grissom.

And one sight of their dishevelled boss sprawled in the dust and Sara was no longer by his side. She was running, boots slamming into the shifting surface and with a grimace he raced after her, panting hard in the dry air as he fought to keep up.

**000000**

**Grissom**

As he slumped heavily to the ground, the worst of the raw heaves dying, two pangs of emotion were sharp as crystal glaring in the sunset.

Shame.

And tearing loss.

This was it.

His last chance was over.

He was here, slumped in the ashes of what could have been.

She was irreparably beyond his reach now.

He couldn't ask for any more forgiveness from her.

Mistake or no, he had done something he considered unforgivable.

He had never physically hurt anyone.

Not even as a child, taunted by bullies.

He had hurt her.

Both physically and emotionally this time.

And the way she had looked, thrown back against the car, limbs weak, and eyes broken hearted.

It replayed in his head, tangling and taunting him in co-conspiracy with shivers and sweat and sore stomach muscles of sickness.

His head ached, and his forehead stung where he had made contact with the ground, hard.

Even his body was physically disgusted with his behaviour.

It would have been humiliating if he had anything left in him to care.

He hadn't been involuntarily sick at a crime scene since he was a rookie.

And that had only been once. One terrible occasion he didn't like to think about. An occasion where the corpse had too closely resembled... He had to swallow and shut his mind down to prevent the queasy roll as his stomach protested and brought on a residual wave of dizziness.

He was never sick.

It was a weakness he fought against.

He was unaccustomed to being unable to control his own bodily functions.

But nothing had ever turned his stomach quite like the sadness in Sara's eyes.

Rolling waves of chills tightened his muscles again.

What was wrong with him?

He held his liquor like the best of them.

He hadn't been what could be considered foolish in college, or even dreamed of it in high school.

He had the immune system of an Ox.

But right now he couldn't lift his head from where it lay heavy against the drifting sand.

His fuddled mind felt the gravel of it in his hair, sticking to his skin in the way it does on a pleasurable day out at the beach when you're slathered with sun cream.

But this was far from that.

He was lying on the ground inches from his own vomit, and he couldn't even turn his face away.

It didn't bear considering.

It was what he felt he deserved.

Karmic retribution, even though as a scientist he wasn't sure he believed in that, secular Catholicism aside.

Sara and Nick were gone, so in some ways it was better.

Sara was gone.

He closed his eyes against the unexpected wave of liquid which pooled in his vision.

It was sand in his eyes.

What did it matter if he lied?

No one would know.

He could just lie here for a while, let the warm sand build up against his frame, fill in all the crinkles appearing in rapid motion as if filmed in time-lapse photography, until he was just another indistinguishable drift in an endless sea of them.

There was no one to help him up.

But there was also no one to see him at what was undoubtedly his weakest since the operation to fix his hearing.

It was funny how quickly things turned on a dime.

Just yesterday, just hours ago, he was feeling a whole new man, lighter step, smiles creeping through, a second date to look forward too.

And now the wind was literally gone from his sails, the ground no longer steady under his feet, but shifting in little dancing displays of aerated sand before his eyes.

So this was what rock bottom felt like.

This was why he didn't do this.

Everyone got hurt.

000000

**Sara**

She wasn't even thinking.

It was automatic action.

Her chest was tight.

Her vision was blurred, the wet streaks on her face no doubt delineated now with granules of glistening sand.

But forward motion was all she strove for.

Running in the dry desert heat was hard on her lungs, she sounded like an 80 year old smoker, but she was making ground in bigger strides than she thought possible.

It was the panic, the adrenaline ebb.

And she could hear Nick wheezing behind her.

Close on her heels.

Grissom.

Sprawled on the ground.

Heart attack?

Heat stroke?

She was too far away and as fast as she ran she didn't seem to get any closer.

It was like being in a bad dream.

Only it wasn't. However much she wished she was still in bed and no one had called her out to work today.

Here she still was. Stranded in the desert with an emergency, a heavy heart and a desperate need to hide under the covers of her bed with an excellent book and never emerge.

And then they were there, the place she had been pining to be and longing to avoid in equal measures.

She was crashing to a stop like a baseball player slides into a home run base.

The ground rising in a victorious cloud.

"_That's not true, I've been a baseball fan my whole life."_

"_Baseball. Well that figures, all those stats."_

"_It's a beautiful game."_

"_Since when are you interested in beauty?"_

"_Since I met you."_

No! She had to be present right now.

She had to live where it was real, not in that place where every word from his mouth was considered and analysed for hidden meaning and allegory. Where every look, every glance was weighted and gave her pleasurable tingles.

He needed her.

He had been sick, there was blood on his temple, sweat matted his curls to his head.

And he wasn't moving, he hadn't moved as she had finally reached him.

He was instead staring sluggishly at the ground as if in some kind of trance.

Barely blinking like he was forgetting to protect himself from the dust and the sand in the air.

Oh God he was bleeding.

But he was breathing.

He didn't flinch as her fingers touched him.

Didn't even blink.

And whatever was wrong with him, she needed to move him.

She needed Nick to help her.

And when she turned back to Nick he was there, eyes alert and ready to help, not needing words to understand what she needed to be done.

And together they struggled, awkward and clumsy, and still panting from their running.

Finally lifting Grissom out of the sand with a straining heave, arms under his shoulders, and together the three of them managed to stumble the hundred yards back to the shelter of the car in one staggering go.

And she worried.

Grissom's eyes never once left the ground, remaining downcast like a sullen child, chastised and afraid.

Was he putting himself through hell inside?

What was going through his mind?


End file.
